


The King's Jester

by SandraClyde



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraClyde/pseuds/SandraClyde
Summary: « Don’t cha worry, the prettiest prom queen of the apocalypse you sure are. » Beth wanted to snap at him, but the little smile on his face was more so amused than mean, so she just smiled back. « Does that make you king ? », she asked. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and he stared at the new found knife in his hand, testing the sharpness of the blade with his thumb. « Nah. The king’s jester at best. », his voice was low, almost a whisper.





	The King's Jester

Every breath was like fire through her lungs. She could barely make out the angel wings in front of her; she was falling behind. The grunts and moans, teeth and jaws snapping slowly became background noise to her ears. An echo. It was dark, and she hadn’t thought her death would make her feel so empty. She wasn’t scared, or angry, or relieved. There was _nothing_. She surely should feel something. The way she’d realized her mistake while trying to stop the bleeding from her wrists. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

A strong grip on her forearm and everything was real again. Real, and very loud, like his voice.

« Don’t. Stop ! »

« I’m slowing you down ! »

She couldn’t really say how she managed to get the words out, considering she was barely breathing anymore now. Or it felt like it. He didn’t let go of her though, dragging her behind him like the dead weight she felt she was. But she kept going, mostly because she was glued to him and stopping would mean the end for the both of them. That wasn’t a sacrifice she could allow. But then again, part of her knew her flesh would be torn apart way too quickly for any guilt to build up.

Daryl took a sudden turn left, probably trying to confuse them, find something, anything, that could put some more distance between them and the herd. But they were out of bullets, he maybe had two or three arrows left. Definitely not enough to make any kind of difference here.

 _They were screwed_.

* * *

Damn _fucking_ woods.

Too dense for them to try escaping in a straight line, yet not enough to provide some cover to catch their breath for a second. Beth almost stopped a few times, and he was now tightly grabbing her arm. But if he was entirely honest, this grip was keeping him moving as much as it was keeping her alive. Two broken chairs standing up leaning on each other, really.

Seconds, minutes, hours. He couldn’t tell. He was just hoping the sharp turns and sprints would help, because they sure as hell would not be able to keep on for long. At some point, he felt like the walkers weren’t on their heels anymore. There were moans, but he almost couldn’t smell their stink. He didn’t stop right away, trying to make the most of their small and miraculous advantage.

With the hand that wasn’t sinking in Beth’s flesh, he tried to find the flask in his pocket and practically shouted with joy when he felt the cold metal touch his fingers. They finally stopped.

« Is that some kind of.. last drink or what ? »

Beth could barely speak, heart pumping like crazy and lungs drowning, or on fire, _maybe both_. Hands on her knees, she was watching him ripping some of his t-shirt, soaking it with alcohol and then wrapping it around his arrow’s shaft. She understood as he loaded the crossbow and set the fabric on fire before shooting the burning arrow in the direction they were coming from. His aim was perfect, she figured, as it reached a tree and most of the walkers were turning towards the bright flames. If they were lucky enough, it would burn for a bit. Enough, at least, to give them some time to distance themselves from this _hell hole_.

« C’mon ! »

Daryl was already pushing her in the opposite direction, and as she started jogging again, she felt like maybe, _just maybe_ , they might not die tonight.

* * *

 

The adrenaline faded a while ago, and they were barely keeping their eyes open now. But they couldn’t risk stopping in the middle of the woods, they both knew that. So when they finally reached a road, Beth almost smiled. Almost.

« Look, there’s a car ! »

He nodded, put the crossbow around his back and took out his knife. Once they were close enough, she noticed a body in the driver’s seat and braced herself as Daryl opened the door. A hand reached for him but he was quick to plunge the knife through the walker’s skull and drag the now still body out of the car. The view wasn’t pretty; he must’ve been trapped here a while. The smell was bad, too.

« Keep your eyes open. »

She took watch while praying the damn car would start. The engine roar died pretty quickly, though, and she saw Daryl banging loudly on the wheel.

« Damn it ! No fucking gas. »

« We could still try to sleep in it, no ? », she quickly asked as he was getting out of the car. She kind of waited for him to tell her it stupid and careless, but the bags under his red swollen eyes were probably matching hers. He scratched his head, sighed and asked; « You have cuts on your hands ? »

The question confused her a bit, but she checked her hands nonetheless before shaking her head from left to right, « I don’t think so. » Daryl was already crouching next to stinking body and before she could ask what he was doing, he buried his knife in the corpse’s guts. If she thought the smell was bad before, well now was something else entirely. She would’ve just puked if her stomach wasn’t that empty. Daryl was spreading the hole he just made, and taking some guts out.

« Help me put it on the roof. »

Camouflage, of course. Together, they hauled the body on the roof of the car, making sure some of its blood was covering the windows too but not enough to keep them from seeing through.

Beth was already lowering the passenger seat while Daryl was sitting down next to her.

« I’mma take first watch. »

She wanted to argue that, at this point, if a herd came busting through the car they would be fucked anyways and they should both get as much sleep as possible. It was Dixon though and she still felt like her opinion wasn’t that valuable. Michonne’s would have been. Or even Maggie’s.  But you can’t really expect much from a girl who spent her past few months babysitting, right ? God, Judith… The guilt pierced sharply through her guts; she would’ve done anything to simply be that again. The babysitter. She tossed and turned for a bit, but the exhaustion was quick to make her close her eyes for good.

When she woke up, Daryl was fast asleep. It wasn’t like him to be in such deep slumber, but even the great badass archer had to take a break sometimes. She almost chuckled. He didn’t seem as tough and distant like that; eyes closed, face relaxed, a bit of drool coming out the corner of his partly opened mouth. Beth’s entire body was sore, and she tore her eyes away from him to try to stretch a bit. As much as the confined space of the car could let her do so. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and she regretted it almost right away. Swollen blood shot eyes, skin so pale and absent of life she felt like she looked more dead than some walkers, blood, sweat, dirt. She jumped when she heard his voice:

« Wanna put some make-up on for your walker lovers out there or what ? »

She glared at him as he was stretching his neck then checking something out the window. The sun was high up in the sky, they must’ve slept quite a bit. He reached in the backseat and took a small bag. There was a rotten sandwich, a knife, a pack of gum and a bottle of water. He gave her the bottle and she gladly took a sip. The water was old. Bitter. But it will do.

« Don’t cha worry, the prettiest prom queen of the apocalypse you sure are. »

Beth wanted to snap at him, but the little smile on his face was more amused so than mean, so she just smiled back. « Does that make you king ? », she asked. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and he stared at the new found knife in his hand, testing the sharpness of the blade with his thumb. « Nah. The king’s jester at best. », his voice was low, almost a whisper. He looked outside the car again, then said loudly: « Time to go. »

She just nodded, still a bit surprised by his answer.

Kind of…Sad, actually.

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there ! 
> 
> After ~years~ of unposted fictions, I figured I'd bite the bullet and give this whole fan fiction a proper public go. Comments and criticism are welcomed, don't hold back ♡. As far as the timeline goes, I took us back to simpler times. At least for now... hehe.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Clyde


End file.
